


Wildness and Filth

by BelleIllumina



Category: Dress Up! Time Princess (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Dom Louis/Sub Marie, F/M, Historical Inaccuracy, Light Bondage, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Use of "cunt" for vagina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:09:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27770536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelleIllumina/pseuds/BelleIllumina
Summary: Auguste asked her if she could trust him enough, because he's going to try something."A foray to something I know I could be determined in, Antoinette."She agreed."Just long enough to see how long you could last with a determined me, of course, beloved."Without knowing that this was what she would be fighting against.Louis Auguste/Marie Antoinette.
Relationships: Marie Antoinette/Louis XVI (Dress Up! Time Princess)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 68





	Wildness and Filth

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this is 7k filth.

To whoever thought of or spoke so loud about how Louis Auguste, King of France, was too gentle and too indecisive as a person, they would never earn Marie Antoinette's trust.

Especially now.

Now, with her whole body buzzing with a cacophony of emotions that she had been trying, and failing, to put rein to since this morning.

Ha. This morning. No, not just this morning.

For a full week now. A full, _damned,_ week. Of quiet curses muttered under her breath. French. German. Italian. _English._ Of her body being strung high in anticipation only to be left to drop before she could even gasp in surprise. Of restraint fraying from whatever attempt of a hold she dared.

It was a week of hyper awareness, to every movement around her and every reaction. Of still feeling phantom sensations long gone but ever triggered by mere thought or memory.

A week. One that started because Auguste asked her if she could trust him enough, because he's going to try something.

> _"A foray to something I know I could be determined in, Antoinette."_

She agreed.

> _"Just long enough to see how long you could last with a determined me, of course, beloved."_

Without knowing that this was what she would be fighting against.

> _Auguste, smiling and holding her hand. Grinning when she boasted at how she thought of it as almost a personal competition. Something she wouldn't surrender easily to. She boasted that she would prove to him how determined she was. His eyes, dancing between mischief and innocence. His thanks, more of a promise._

Want. Desire. Her whole body screaming for a fulfillment of a promised pleasure continuously denied.

Burning. Burning still.

"Feeling under the weather, Your Majesty? You look a bit too red."

"Indeed, I was just about to inquire myself."

"Please, do not push yourself, my Queen."

Antoinette gulped a deep breath and forced herself to smile. Endeavored for a calm she didn't feel. Searched for a chill that she couldn't even find. She pushed back a curse that slammed the back of her teeth, because she knew she wouldn't stop if she started. And these women, ladies of houses that supported their cause that led to this current peace, definitely didn't deserve to have their Queen breaking to profanity out of nowhere.

Instead, she asked, "Does anyone know where His Majesty is right now?"

In the silence that followed, she traced the seam of her glove. From the side of her wrist to the tip of her thumb. A poor mimic of memories that were pinnacles of the sensations she was chasing.

> _Auguste's finger tracing the ties of her stays when they decided to share breakfast severely early and severely underdressed for their status as royalty. Again and again, he traced while he talked about his plans for the day like she wasn't being ignited. His gaze watching her while his voice droned on in a low rumble. Useless matters, she decided then, focused solely at the feel of his rough fingers against her._
> 
> _Or was it when he found a seam on the side of her gown fascinating to the touch and just traced its path? Traced it while they received guests for a small meeting just a couple of nights ago? Distracting her to the point of wanting nothing more than to feel it skin to skin._
> 
> _It was most likely when—_

"Did you hear, Your Majesty?"

> — _when he dipped her fingers in honey and licked it clean. All the while, all she could do was stare at him in shock._
> 
> _Shock at how when he was done, he carried on through their meal with just a comment of "So it does affect the taste." as if what he did was normal to their every day, or even to their normal activities in bed._

"—Majesty?"

She jolted at the call and focused at the worried faces directed at her.

"Are you sure you are well, Majesty?"

"What of His Majesty?"

"He's meeting with the ministers, Your Majesty. It's been going on since two hours past and they should be finished soon." Madame Tarbé, wife of one of the ministers, offered. "They're trying to get the King to rest in between his duties especially with how he's leading the reforms and pushing it hard. Everyone in His Majesty's cabinet are working on setting up more efficient workflows."

She raised a brow. "These meetings included?"

The Madame nodded. "There's always room for improvement, is it not?"

A nod, then, she stood up and turned to the room. Wives and daughters filtered through in matters of loyalty and sincerity. Checked by d'Eon and Auguste himself with the help of his information network. The most loyal. So few.

"I thank you, dear Mesdames and Mesdemoiselles. I appreciate your continued presence and your willing ears, even your concern for us. However, I must cut this short. I am sure we will have plenty of chances to spend time together in the future." She gave the chatter of responses a final beatific smile, practiced and mastered. Then she left the room determined to not be held back.

Let them wonder why she didn't give an explanation. Let them gossip on why she left in the first place.

Let them theorize.

Because she's putting all of the blame on Auguste's feet.

> _"May I, Antoinette?"_
> 
> _"Yes."_

> _"Do you mind, beloved?"_
> 
> _"No."_

> _"Do you want me to stop?"_
> 
> _"Don't."_

Yes, even if she was compliant every time he asked.

Her insides a knot between the excitement of knowing him and not knowing what he had planned. The anticipation of the change in him.

No. Not change. The revelation of more of him. The further discovery of them,

She carried tracing the seam of her glove as she hurried.

It was just her luck that she found the ministers filing out Auguste's study when she arrived. She gave each of them a smile and a nod as she pushed her way into the room. She paused at the threshold and frowned.

Of course. Of course, it's Blaisdell that stayed behind. Standing before the King's desk with his broad back shielding Auguste.

"I am fully aware of the concern, Blaisdell. I've thought of options that we can take and of the possibilities. You will agree that theory could only do so much and would never be enough backing for what we planned to do. I need reports if we have funds to start testing for a small population without affecting what's most needed."

"Of course, Your Majesty, I will have them ready later today. Then, we can meet tomorrow or the next to further prepare."

"Thank you."

"Now, for the next point—"

"Minister Blaisdell." Her voice was strong enough, but it was rough and she hated it, because this was _Blaisdell._ With the default smile, ever cordial and ever disconnected from his gaze. Those eyes shielded by outright amusement and enough curiosity.

Both men turned to her and the minister stepped away from the desk, giving her a clear path to her goal. She pulled the door close and moved further into the room.

She kept her gaze on Auguste.

"Your Majesty." Blaisdell most likely bowing to her, but he was unimportant. What was important was before her. She stopped before the desk and held Auguste's gaze.

Waiting.

Seeking.

Demanding.

> _How dare he—_

Watching as his eyes shifted from confusion to worry.

> _How dare he—_

Understanding clicked.

> _How dare he be sitting there with that sincere smile when she was barely holding on?_

Auguste didn't look away. He held her gaze and everything else faded away.

"Blaisdell." He didn't look away from her. The smile was still there even when his tone hardened. "You will have the information you needed to get the reports ready later today. Once we have the reports, we will send word when we can meet again."

"Of course, Your Majesty, would—"

"You are dismissed. We thank you for all this work."

A pause.

"I will have the reports as soon as possible. Your Majesties." Another bow.

_Leave._

_Leave._

_Leave faster._

_Leave before I do something I won't fully regret, but will be utterly embarrassed about._

She gripped her skirts and pushed down the plea trapped in her throat. She didn't even know what she would do, just that she wanted to do something. Murder flitted through her mind and she entertained it just for a distraction. Or as much a distraction, because she's already counting Blaisdell's light footsteps, trying not to tear at her skirts, and so many others.

They're far from effective.

Because all she could do was wait.

_Click._

One. She took a deep breath. A careful inhale and a slow exhale. Willing her body to relax.

Two. Her body couldn't.

Three. She tightened her grip even more.

Four.

Five.

_Please._

Auguste offered a hand to her and without hesitation, she grasped it. Clinging. Using it as her anchor to fight the emotions that finally broke free within her.

"Tell me, Antoinette." A statement delivered with as much understanding and care as every statement he had and would've given her. From the cadence of his voice to the shift of his smile to something sweeter. The only differences were that his tone was still hard, his gaze stayed as sharp, and his touch was purposeful. Tracing the seam of her glove as she did earlier.

"Please." She pushed through gritted teeth. Her breathing already too heavy, too loud. Her muscles quivering in anticipation.

"Please what, beloved?" His smile shifted to give way to that hint of promise. Something she was sure he wanted her to see, because only after that did he break eye contact and started unbuttoning her glove. He did it like it was the most important task in the world. "Please, help me?"

She was familiar with sweet Auguste.

> _Sweet smiles. Sweet words. Sweet gifts. Sweet like tea with just the right amount of honey._

He tilted his head a bit to the side as he slipped the glove off and pocketed it. Humming a tune as he pressed his fingers to her palm. Thumb following the same path it did when she was wearing the glove, only now, skin to skin. "…Then, what do you need help with, my Queen?"

He pressed a kiss against her knuckles. He flipped her hand over and pressed his lips on her palm. Another and another, following one of its many lines. It would've been fine if it ended at that.

It didn't.

She was familiar with generous Auguste.

> _One that would give her everything he could in his power, limited as it was. A theater. A world of her own in a palace for herself. As much kindness and patience he could give._

He reached the end of the line and she felt him smile. He looked up to her with raised brows and she could only stare back. As if she could look away.

Then, as if it was the most normal thing to do, he traced the very same line the way back with his tongue.

Then, bit the meat of her palm.

A gasp tore its way out of her mouth and with it, goosebumps swept through her body. She had to let go of her skirts to grip the edge of the desk instead.

Her mind threw composure out the window. Whatever was left centered on that meat of her palm. His teeth digging just enough to sting while his tongue soothed it. Random shapes traced by the tip, then filled like it was an artwork he would let her see later on. And all she could think about—

> —was the blood pounding in her ears
> 
> —was her knees shaking
> 
> —was how she couldn't fill her lungs with enough air
> 
> — _was she wasn't familiar to this degree of forwardness and command wielded upon her by Auguste_
> 
> _—was finally—_
> 
> _—more—_
> 
> _—please more—_

Then, he _growled._

Her knees buckled.

_Fuck._

"Antoinette."

 _Fuck._ For all that was good and holy.

"Antoinette."

Who? Her mind clung to that growl, trying to replay it to perfection. All the while, her legs shook and her inner thighs were slick, and everything was too hot.

"Antoinette. Let go of the desk."

Her body followed, and let her grip fall.

"Antoinette."

Auguste knelt before her, holding her by the elbows.

"That was so unfair, Auguste." She whimpered, grabbing his coat and pulling him to her. At this point, what was Pride? Decency? "A week. A damned week of torment and teasing."

"But you enjoyed it, did you not?" He gathered her to his arms, then sat back while kissing her forehead with a chuckle. "You were so brave, my dearest wife. Very good."

"All I could think about was you."

"And?"

"I want you."

He pulled back and raised his brows at her again. This time, before he could even utter his question, she knew and she snapped.

"On your desk. On this floor. On that couch." A part of her hated the baiting. Another part loved it and was excited of what he would lead her to next. "Naked. Barely clothed. I care not how. All I want is for you to fuck me and fuck me hard."

There. Damn her filter. Damn royal etiquette. Damn courtesy. Damn. Damn.

Damn Auguste if he couldn't even take—"

"Hard enough that you're screaming and still begging for more." The smile that stretched his lips was of perfect innocence. It brightened his face in such gentleness but it didn't chase away the heat in his eyes. It was then that she realized how wicked her husband could be.

She cursed, out loud and eyes wide.

He smiled wider, his eyes almost closing and the innocence bled out. He looked like a wolf. "Until you're so lost to pleasure you can't even speak because you can only focus on breathing and being fucked."

_Bastard._

He chuckled low and all she could do was stare.

This was Auguste. The same Auguste that had to be talked to by her brother just to even bed her properly. The same Auguste that would ask every incident later if she was fine whether their lovemaking was smooth as vanilla or even just a bit roughened by stress. Warm. Giving. Aware. Kind.

This was still Auguste, but more.

"Too much? Even for a son of Versailles?"

"No!" She should've seen this coming. Should've realized the raw power beneath the care and the kindness. For her. He wasn't like this because of the foray. There was a foray because he was like this. "More."

And he wanted to know her limits.

She wanted more. Of this late realization that she was clued in for so long. Now swept into the experience, determined to carry on.

"Truly?"

"Yes, Auguste. Please."

"Such courage." Pride bled in abundance from his words. With it, a gratefulness. She wanted more. She needed more. More of this Auguste that she wasn't fully privy of before. "I have plenty more and I do have layers to go through."

He pulled two pins that held her gown and set them on his desk. "It is haunting whenever you started my day dismissing my valet to help me dress. Unfair with how I could barely do it in return."

Two more pins, pulled and set aside. She was aware that she could help, but she was enraptured of the revelation he was unraveling. Too taken by the fact that he was telling this to her with a composure she could no longer feel.

"I didn't want to let you leave the first time you buckled the sides of my breeches. The way you ignored my wishes and slapped my hands away. I wanted to lock us up my quarters the moment you knelt. I stopped caring of France and being her King the moment you looked up to me to smile. I wanted you then and there when you asked if everything was fine."

Two more pins. She watched his lips move.

"It never helped, the question you asked. Do you remember?"

She nodded, licking her lips.

"Ask it."

She blinked and looked up to his eyes. Found them ablaze.

"Ask it."

She licked her lips, watched as his eyes followed her tongue's movement. Watched as it moved to meet hers again.

She couldn't fill her lungs, however deep she breathed. "Is there anything else you wanted, Auguste?"

"So much more." He pulled the last four pins and she felt her gown loosen. Felt the need for more details as he set those aside. Felt the plea for them stuck in her throat as he turned his attentions to her hair, freeing them. "I wanted your dainty fingers unbuttoning the fall of my breeches. I wanted your hands on my cock and I wanted so much to fuck your mouth."

He gathered her hair in one hand and pulled her head back. The slight pain the catalyst to the moan that was built by his words.

"You want that, love?"

She moaned and nodded as much as he allowed. The image those mere words implanted in her imagination had her craving. Had her squirming.

"I wanted to push deep into your throat." His free hand wrapped around her neck, squeezing enough that she gasped. "I want to feel you accommodate. I wanted to haul you to bed and worship you to the point I might just hang for heresy."

Blasphemies crowded her mind along with images upon images of what could've happened. Excitement, so much like fear, had her shuddering.

She wanted to taste him, wanted to please him. Wanted to see his expressions as she did so. Needed to hear his moans and praises.

"Breathe, Antoinette."

Who?

"Breathe." She gasped. Realizing she had held her breath all the while. The world refocused slowly.

She felt both his hands framing her face. Saw his face and its gentleness. "Too much?"

She shook her head. "No. I—you didn't."

> —hurt me.
> 
> —follow through.

He understood what she meant. "I didn't. Instead, I buried myself in work and tried not to see you kneeling before me with that angelic smile, everywhere I looked."

"Why?"

"I've always wanted you too much that it scared me."

She smiled, nuzzling the palm of his hand and sighing. "I remember."

And for the first time through this week long activity, he blushed.

Oh, Auguste. She chuckled. He pouted.

She leaned forward, his hold letting her, and nipped his jaw with her teeth, her hands moving to his thighs and squeezing. "You were always so hard back then. I didn't know how you managed to get through the night without release. All you ever said was a gritted goodnight."

He groaned. She chuckled once more.

"Was it because you think you will hurt me? Or because you didn't know how?"

"Both and more." He pulled her back and set her back to the floor. His ears still red from the blush. "I learned as much as I could since then."

What was more? She wanted to ask. She didn't get the chance because he stood and helped her up her feet. Didn't get a chance when he turned her to face the desk once more. All chances were eliminated when she felt him remove the gown.

"Eyes forward. Remove your stomacher and your kerchief." She struggled to follow, her fingers barely cooperating in removing more pins. But she persevered and she achieved. She set the pieces on the desk and stared onward.

To the very portrait of the Louis Auguste, smiling that gentle and happy smile.

"Auguste?" Her voice cracked.

"Hm?" She heard the rustle of cloth being settled. Felt his presence move around the room before he stopped behind her. Close that she could feel his body heat but not enough to satisfy.

"How much longer are you going to torment me?"

He chuckled. The sound running deep like lightning to her veins. He untied her panniers and her pockets. He took those she removed as well and moved away again to set them aside.

"Afraid?"

"No." And she wasn't. In all that had happened, there was still care. His mere presence calmed her. "I am getting impatient."

"I understand."

She heard the sound of the blade being unsheathed and before she could even reply, felt it against the binds of her stays. Before she could even fathom that yes, it was happening, her stays gaped loose and ruined.

"Auguste!" She started turning.

"Stare onward, wife. Grip the edge of the desk."

She snarled but followed his order. He gave her bottom a few good pats. She snarled again.

"I will make you pay."

He took away the stays. "However are you planning to?"

"I can think of something."

Yes, she could. In the middle of the day, while standing in her stockings, petticoat and chemise. In the middle of her husband's study.

He was yet to kiss her properly.

She almost jumped when she felt his hands on her stockings. She gripped his desk tighter and focused on breathing. Or focused as much as she could. Because she could feel how close his hands were to her slick thighs. His every touch making her muscles quiver. Of course, he would be the one that could make rolling down her stockings outright erotic. It didn't help that she wasn't even seeing how he did it.

"Are you planning on pushing me down and riding me astride?"

She squeezed her thighs and moaned.

"Oh, you would dare." He breathed out the words, excitement clear. Then, he unbuckled her shoes and set them aside. Her stockings followed. "Magnificent."

She was mulling over what he meant with that word when he moved around the desk to stand before her.

The peruke was gone, and so was his coat. His hair was sticking out in all angles as he ran his fingers through. His eyes, oh his lovely eyes, were blown to black and the desire in them was plain for everyone to see.

For her. Only for her.

And even in that desire and the hard cock pushing against his breeches, Auguste was a patient man.

Patient enough that he cleared his desk, the dagger, documents, pins, quills and everything else, with barely a change in expression.

"I am starting to hate your patience." Yet to kiss her. Yet to touch her where she needed him. Yet to fuck. And he was clearly aware of it.

He smiled, closing the last drawer and looking down at her.

"I am not sorry. The expressions on your face and your reactions are something to treasure and carve to memory." He held her chin and ran his thumb against her lips. "May I kiss you?"

"Yes. Please. Now."

He kissed her with tenderness, pulled close by the nape and kept steady by how he covered one of her hands on the desk. His lips met with hers with a clear intent of exploring. Especially with how he would shift the pressures from careful pecks to hard pushes. She took all of it, scraps of contact compared to what she wanted.

She raised her free hand to pull him closer, to kiss him as she wanted to be kissed.

He pulled back.

Her hand fell back to the desk.

He licked his lips and kissed her once more. This time he licked her lips and pushed his tongue into her mouth. There the story shifted to something fully different. She felt his tongue against her teeth, moving from one tooth to another before taking great sweeps. She sighed.

She raised her hand once more, to pull herself close to him. To anchor. To further establish contact.

He pulled back, breathing heavy and licking his lips.

Her hand fell back to the desk, again, whimpering at the loss.

When he kissed her this time, he braced her head with both hands and there was no longer a sweet preamble. She was devoured. She felt his tongue everywhere in her mouth. Her teeth, her palate, the insides of her cheek and even under her tongue. She moaned, wanting more. She pushed herself to him, tiptoeing and pulling herself up using the desk as leverage. She opened her mouth as far as she could too, whining in plea.

He broke apart for breath, then dove back in. His tongue took and tasted without hesitation. Again and again even when their teeth clashed at some moments. She was lost in the sensation of tongue, lips and teeth. Sucking. Nibbles. Bites.

She descended. Into pleasure, intensity and Auguste. Their moans and sighs were music to her ears.

Her mind was still relishing the experience when he broke the kiss. The sudden stop of the descent had her grasping at straws to catch up with the now. She was left panting with her mouth still open, her tongue sticking out and her lips wet. When her mind caught up, she groaned and arched her back, assaulted by the feel of him nibbling her ear and squeezing her breasts.

She squeezed her slick thighs together when he started flicking his thumbs on her nipples.

Flick.

Flick.

Flick.

Flick.

"Ah!" She gasped when he pinched and pulled. Her toes curled. Her dripping cunt clenched and her arousal ran down to her legs. "…Auguste…Auguste…I can't—"

He twisted her nipples and she squeaked. He smiled, pride clear in his gaze, and twisted them again. This time she moaned, the pain rushing through her body like lightning and burning into pleasure.

"Your hips are moving on its own, my needy little love."

She didn't even think of stopping. Instead, she moved her hips even more, gyrating and wanting friction. She moved it in time to his light pinches. "…Are you—Are—Auguste—"

"Hm?"

She whined. He smiled. She hissed. He smiled even more.

Curses. Blasphemies. Words that shouldn't be thrown to a King streamed out her lips.

"Filthy." He stopped pinching, stopped moving. "I won't be able to answer you if you don't ask properly."

She took a deep breath, braced herself. "Are you—" He pulled at her nipples. "—Oh!"

She slapped her hands on his desk and glared at him. Her whole body tingling and on fire. Her cunt, without any question, weeping and needing his cock. Her mouth, salivating.

His smile didn't waver. "Your question, beloved?"

She took another deep breath and licked her lips. "Why are you tormenting me like this?"

"The scientific method."

She blinked. What? Her mind trying sluggishly to even make sense of those three words. Layers upon layers of memories so different.

She tried, really, but he started removing his cravat and she had to gulp at the intense need that slammed to her. Need to bite and nibble and suck on that neck. To mark him, because she knew it would be easier to hide. She wanted to run her teeth against his throat the moment he pulled the cravat off. To press herself against him and taste. "Antoinette, are you listening?"

She blinked. Who?

"Beloved."

Ah. Beloved.

She focused and found him holding both of her hands by the wrist and pressing them to his chest. The cravat scrunched in his hand.

"Tell me." There was steel in his voice that she had heard before. In great speeches where his voice echoed through chambers. Moments he stood before a great clamoring divide and quieted them. It didn't help that his timbre was low with arousal.

"I—want to kiss and suck your throat. To—to mark your neck."

_Hungry._

His smile showed teeth. He took each hand to his mouth and gave her wrists and palm nibbles. "I'm sure we can put that in somewhere for next time. Anything more before we move on?"

"I don't think I can handle anymore waiting."

His smile disappeared and there's a sudden fear that she disappointed him. "Auguste—"

"You can." He started tying her hands together with the cravat. "That's why we're doing this. Since you weren't listening, we're experimenting."

Experimenting.

"Bend over. Set your elbows on the desk. Look up to me. Very good." He looked at her wrists with a critical eye. "Wiggle your hands."

She did. It was tight, like a clamp of hands, but it didn't chafe.

"Very good. Too much?"

She shook her head. "No."

"Now, I need you to focus. This is the most important part."

Most important? More than him fucking her? More than the pleasure she needed? More than how she needed him?

"Beloved."

"Yes. Yes. I'm focused."

"Whatever happens, I need you to inform me when everything becomes too much and you need to tap out." His touch was gentle as he held her face. "I do not care if you have to scream it, but I need you to understand that I do not wish you to take on too much. Or that you do not enjoy this."

"I understand." And she did. Auguste had been nothing but honest in what he had shared. Been nothing but aware in his patient tormenting. He was always there for her to turn to when she needed. "Would it be fine if I say _lock_ to signal it?"

"Yes."

 _Thunk-thunk. Thunk-thunk._ He knocked a pattern on the wood as well.

She nodded, repeating. _Thunk-thunk. Thunk-thunk._

He bent forward before her, kissing her bound wrists. "Know that I always love you."

She sighed at that, pushing herself forward and kissing his forehead. "And, I love you."

The smile he gave her when he straightened was of full on want. A wolf prowling and on a hunt. A prey acquired. "Is there anything else you wanted, love?"

She growled, because she finally understood how much an impact those words held. "If you do not fuck me anytime soon, yes."

"Relax. I'm not planning on leaving you hanging, this time around." He kissed the crown of her head and then rounded the desk. His touch consistent and connected with her body.

Her shoulder. Her side. Her back. Grounding. Reassuring.

"Now, hold on and enjoy."

She sighed, arching her back and offering more for him to touch. He did. He touched her lower back with both hands. She felt him slide them over her bottom and she moaned when he dug his fingers to the flesh.

He groaned long in response and she felt the sound travel her spine. "My dearest wife, soft and needy. I wonder how wet you are from all that teasing."

She pushed her bottom to his hands harder and muffled a moan when his grip tightened and started massaging. Each move a deliberate action to pull her chemise and petticoat up.

Each move then—

> —a building anticipation—
> 
> —an increasing want—
> 
> —to the feeling of his bare touch against her bare skin.

"Aah. Beautiful."

Her lips parted and her eyes widened at the feeling of his fingers gathering the wetness on her inner thighs. From one inner thigh, a soft moan from his lips, to another. With the sucking sounds behind her, she could only imagine how he would've looked. His satisfied exhale sent her shuddering.

"Delicious."

It was so unfair, to be deprived of his expressions. Unfair, that she couldn't—

"Oh God." She gripped the edge of the desk before her, stretching her body out. Her muscles clenched, because finally, he was touching her. His fingers caressing her cunt with a butterfly touch. Her mind could only conjure the expression he had, but she was sure it was close. "Oh God, yes."

> _Looking at her as he would a lock. A small tempered smile at the challenge presented. The rest of I is focus in his gaze. Cogs of plans being hatched clear for the world to see. Soft, but there's a cold gleam that couldn't be denied. Plans of dismantling the lock apart and then putting it back together. Plans of improving._

"Oh G—nggh." His finger—forefinger? middle?— pushed into her opening—middle finger—to his first knuckle and she tightened around him with a long muffled groan. She pushed against it, rolling her hips, wanting deeper, wanting more.

He didn't stop her so she hurried for a rhythm. Given so little but desperate enough to make it work. Her brows furrowed and her teeth peeked out as she bit her lip. More. Her nipples rubbed against the desk whenever she moved. More. Please. She writhed in different ways in desperation to get more ground. The length of his finger. The friction of his callouses.

"Determined to come?" Auguste hissed to her ear, his body braced against her back. His scent and heat engulfing her all over. His legs pushed and placed between hers. She looked up, turning to his voice. Needing to see him. Needing more than the portrait.

She gulped.

His eyes were blown to black. An abyss both familiar and not. A chasm that from her position on a precipice, she would answer the call to.

She knew she would never come to harm.

"Mine." He growled. The truth carved into the fibers of the universe. The proclamation of an unbreakable law.

"Y—ours" She surrendered. "Only yours. All of me."

"All of you."

He pushed his finger deep and she barely muffled her squeal. A proverbial period to their conversation. And with how he carried on—

She growled and shoved her mouth against her arm, the whimper that immediately followed was one she was unaware of.

Oh, he gave her a rhythm. One she could only fall to the sensation of. Could only drown. With how deprived she had been, it was more than enough a stimulation. Her cunt tightening and wanting to keep it within. The friction making her shake whenever he pulled out.

_Yes._ She could only moan.

 _Finally._ Whimper. Her toes curling. _Finally._

She dug her nails to the wood. She squeezed her eyes shut.

She lost the world and could only feel.

For she had tried satisfying herself, she did, but couldn't throughout the week. Instead, frustration built. Her fingers were too short. Too thin. Too lacking. Too impatient. Too restless.

He added another finger, making her screech. The thickness her fingers could never had. The length. The strength. The reach. The stability of his hold and push against her hips. She rolled her hips desperately, loving her inability to fully do so.

He was hitting all the spots she needed. He's pushing her to that crest she craved.

And, oh, she wanted the crash. _Please._

He curled his fingers.

She clawed at the desk, her legs twitching every single time he proceeded to do so.

_More._

Whenever she almost settled to a pattern, he shifted. Slowing down but still going deep. Speeding up and avoiding her spots. Slowing down and searching deep in her cunt with his fingers for more spots that made her writhe.

All the teasing. All the need. A musician and his instrument.

He twisted his fingers.

"The--re! Please. Please." She sobbed when he passed against her upper wall. Her cunt tightening to keep him there, to do it again _, please, please, please,_ but fully knowing that she was at his mercy. "Please, my love. I'm so—fucking—close."

Breathe.

She pushed through gritted teeth, "Ibegyou, Aug—uste. Iwant—to—come! "

Breathe.

"As you wish, love."

Breathe.

She felt him move away from her back. Bereft. A plea already ready to be uttered if he decided to make her wait even more. A question of _what more could you want?_

A broken keen, barely muffled, "—yes!"

Her body jerked, feet flying off the floor by instinct. To bend. To react. To just do something.

"Oh God—don't stop."

His mouth against her cunt.

"Oh God—fuck."

His tongue prodding the spaces between his fingers inside her.

"Oh—" _please make me cum._

His mouth moving to her clit.

"Ngh—" _whatever and everything you wanted._

There's only him and his want of her body.

Only him and his mastery of her.

Him and that crash he was bringing her to.

He licked that little nub like the tip of a strawberry, relishing the texture and the taste. He flicked it with the very intent of granting her wish, playing with pressure. Hard. Playful. Sure. Timing it with every jerk of her body. Following the shattered rhythm with a hyper awareness.

She was his meal. He nibbled her lips.

She was his. He sucked her clit.

He ate her like a man chasing every moment of bliss before the coming death.

Greed. Lust.

A fine line long blurred.

Antoinette reached her little death with a shatter. Every sinew. Every nerve. Shaking. Her muffled scream without a care of the world and pushed into his ears by the walls, echoing. Forever to memory. The need to hear it unhindered a definite.

He stood, gripping her hips to keep her from sliding off the desk. Her cum and arousal staining his mouth, jaw and sliding down his neck. Her taste, a nectar he was ever addicted to.

He flipped her over with ease at her lethargy and relish at the daze in her eyes.

She was a mess.

Oh, how lovely it was, to see the frustration in her gaze when she entered his study earlier, now nothing but a haze with tears running down her cheeks. To see the little rogue she put today ruined. Saliva running the sides of her lips.

Beautiful.

"Mine." His own need and want, pushed to the side, now charged to the forefront.

He unbuttoned the fall of his breeches and took his hard cock in his hand, precum already running down the shaft. Pumped it in his fist a few times, because at this point they were past playing.

"Y—ours." Her voice was hoarse and broken. Pride and love swelled within his chest at the satisfaction in her gaze.

"Beloved." He rasped, pulling her legs farther apart by the thigh. His mouth watering at the sight of her weeping cunt. He met her gaze and smiled. "You did so good."

He knew it was more a toothy grin than a smile.

He knew it was far from kind.

He knew that it was just a pure show of the last thread of his patience.

"It's time to fuck your properly. Understand?"

The smile she bestowed to him would've brought him to his knees in adoration and humility.

For here was the goddess of love and beauty and she decided to surrender to him.

She opened her legs up and stretched her body, holding the one edge of the desk and setting her feet on the other. "Yes, please."

He groaned and thrust his cock to the hilt in one go. Another groan at how she tightened around him. And another at the way her eyes rolled back. Something he wanted to see more and more in the future.

"Behave, dearest." He leaned over her, pressing his hand on the desk over her shoulder and anchoring her body with it. He wrapped his other hand around her hip.

Then he let that last thread of patience snap.

Whatever awareness she gained when her orgasm mellowed down, fractured to brittle glass. Whatever was left could only hold onto Auguste and the cry building in her throat. All her senses trying to capture as much of what she was finally given. Greedy for his expressions and the sounds that fell from his lips. Greedy of the look in his eyes.

Only for her, to her and because of her.

Right now, he was no king, no noble, no blue blood.

He was just a man in the throes of passion and savagery, pounding into her with a ferocity of one descending to madness.

"Mine." She gasped, arching her back off the desk and shuddering at the way his cock thrust into her tightening cunt.

"Yours." He grinned, a touch feral.

Take. Give.

He proceeded to devour her further. His mouth covering her clothed breast and peppering it with kisses and nibbles. The texture of the cloth amplifying the sensation. He sucked and bit the hard nipple, the pain a sharp pull further into pleasure. A comma amid sentences of pleasure with a goal to overwhelm.

Whatever screams she could've given, her voice was too hoarse to even achieve. She did anyway.

Whatever train of thought, lost. That, she let go of without qualm.

He shuddered every time her cunt tightened enough that he struggled moving. An invitation to just break apart and cum deep within her that he worked hard to deny. He growled at the regrowing haze in her eyes, a satisfaction curling deep within at being the cause of it.

Her broken to voiceless cries only served to inflame his veins and tighten his balls.

More.

Oh, he would've loved to try so many things and angles and ideas, but he had let go of his patience and—

"Hm—clos—nghhh"

—there's only her and him and the need for each other.

He shifted his hold on her hips and moved to flick and rub her clit with his thumb. Moaning when she started thrashing and pushing against his cock for more. Fuck, he was close.

Fuck. He wanted to howl.

Fuck. He clamped his mouth to the juncture of her shoulder and neck, digging his teeth. He held on just a bit longer, fucking her until she came. Drowning in the sensation and how it swept him off his own precipice. He held back as much as he could, riding the wave while trying not to be swept away.

A useless battle. He tried.

He failed.

He surrendered.

He came when she wrapped her legs around him and pulled him deeper into her. A shout ripped from his throat and muffled by her supple flesh. Her whole body pressed against his shaking own. His knees threatened to buckle. His bones close to melting, the deep seated comfort seeping into his bones.

 _More. More. More._ His mind chanted as he just felt.

He released his bite and soothed her with his tongue, hoping to remove the worst of the sting as he could. Waiting for her to catch her breath. Waiting for her to loosen her hold of him. Waiting and breathing.

Waiting that they both calm down from the high they were thrown to.

When he felt steady enough, he pushed himself away from her, letting his hips anchor her as he reached for her bound wrists. It took him a few tries to untie her one-handed, but when he succeeded, he took each wrist and kissed them. Little licks. A lot of nuzzles.

"Thank you, beloved." He murmured, pressing her hands to his chest. More thanks, a soft chant, as he kissed her tears and her eyelids. "You did so well."

"Hm...uly?' Her lips didn't even move and the word came out more of a sigh.

"Oh, yes." He pulled out of her with a growl and stepped back a bit to return himself to a semblance of decency. "You were a marvel and a delight. A surprise."

She smiled, tried doing it smoothly and failing. Her focus still clinging to the experience and basking in the afterglow.

Words and ideas she wanted to share, but she was just too satisfied to be bothered.

"Are you well?" She heard his whisper close to her ear. Are you well? In how he wrapped her around his arm and guided her to sitting on his desk. Are you well? In how he pulled her to him and carried her whole weight like a bride.

She snuggled closer to his chest and buried her face to his neck.

"Antoinette."

Who?

"Beloved."

She purred.

"I'm bringing us to my quarters to rest. You do remember the secret passage, yes?"

She nuzzled her nose against the side of his throat and sighed.

"Love."

She licked, hard enough to feel the curves of his muscles.

"Behave."

She wasn't really sure how long it took or which secret passage they chose as a shortcut. All she knew, and knew she was aware of, was how enticing Auguste's neck was and how nibble-worthy. His jaw too. His collarbone.

So many of his she wanted to taste.

His ears. Would he let her nibble them while he's blushing red?

"Planning, love?" He asked when they reached his quarters and the haze has left her gaze. He set her down her side of his bed and waited for her to focus on him. While doing so, he sat beside her and started removing the rest of her clothes. "Well, delay that until tomorrow, if you can."

She pouted.

"Are you well?" He wiped her clean with prepared towels and discarded them to a pile on the floor. Caring. Soothing. Checking.

She nodded, reaching out to hold his hand and finally meeting his gaze. Her eyes were bright, loved and now very much aware. "Better."

He blushed to his ears and grinned. "No pushing yourself for my sake?"

"None."

"You are a wonder."

"This wonder liked it very much."

He blushed even harder and started removing his clothes there beside her to buy time. His presence treasured and loved. His effort to give her tactile contact all throughout, noticed.

She watched.

Fascinated.

> The strength of his wrists.
> 
> The curve of his spine.
> 
> The broadness of his shoulders.
> 
> The mastery of his hands and fingers as they rubbed ointment to her bruises.

She blinked.

Bruises.

> The grip on her hips.
> 
> Fingers dug against flesh.
> 
> Teeth.
> 
> Teeth.
> 
> Teeth.

"You marked me."

"Too much?"

She cupped his neck and waited until he's looking at her. "No. But, you promised we'll find a way so I have a turn next time."

An inferno filled his eyes that couldn't be softened by his smile. "Ah, yes. Riding and marking, wasn't it?"

"Please?"

He took care of every bruise, kissing them before putting ointment. Searching for stiffness in her limbs and massaging them away. Turning her over to her stomach to make sure she's well overall. Once he was satisfied, she heard the cap being replaced and the bottle being set to their bedside table.

The bed dipped and she watched as he crawled over her and plopped to his side.

His expression was boyish and a gleam of challenge.

"Your turn to experiment then." He declared as he gathered her to his arms and kissed her forehead. "I look forward to it, dearest."

"I plan to not disappoint."

In the silence that followed, there was comfort and satiation.

And the soft off-key humming of Auguste to the dozing Antoinette.

**Author's Note:**

> Things that I believe and headcanon totally happened after this:  
> 1\. He woke up in the middle of the nap to get their clothes. Saw the scratches she did on his desk and pretty much decided that those were to be treasured.  
> 2\. He started a habit of running his fingers over those scratches whenever he missed her. He learned which were her scratches vs. others.  
> 3\. There were [or would be] other places and stuff that has her scratches whenever these things happened outside their bedrooms and it definitely became an almost inside joke between them.
> 
> Louis: *looks at that furniture/area where they pretty much did the do* Hmm. Scratches. Should we send this for repair?  
> Marie: *glares at him* No.  
> Louis: *angel boy smiling angelically* I agree. It holds such precious memory.
> 
> 4\. He definitely helped her dress the days after and checked on her bruises every time. Also, because "mine." 
> 
> \----------------------------------
> 
> I default characters as switches, until I have explored and handled them enough to know/finalize their preferences, in my head. Also, built enough of what I call as "filth lists". This is an exploration. 
> 
> Thank you for the time you took to reading this horrible beast of a piece. I haven't written serious fanfic smut since...yeah. Thank you.
> 
> Maybe I'll write Marie's experiment?


End file.
